Specter At the Feast
by solitarysister
Summary: One shot. Alt-ending where Bilbo died in BOTFA instead. He is now a ghost at the dwarves' celebration.


**i'm sorry for this. i am. don't hurt me, be gentle. i'm sorry. **

Their feast fit the occasion. It was an extravagant and joyous event. At long last they could celebrate the end of a long journey. One that had brought them home.

Despite their wounds, Fili and Kili were energetic as ever. They probably couldn't even feel the pain through the alcohol in their veins. The rest were no less merry. Dancing, singing, eating and eating and eating. The sounds echoed through the halls reaching deep into the heart of the mountain as if they'd never fallen silent, as if they'd never left.

Bilbo was happy for them. Truly. They couldn't see it but he was smiling as he watched from where he leaned on the wall. He couldn't bring himself to try and get any closer. They wouldn't be able to see him, not from his place between the living and the dead. He wished it didn't hurt so badly, wanting to join them yet being unable. For what seemed the hundredth time that night the events of the past few days played out in his head. It was a grand story, they'd be telling for years. Bilbo supposed it'd be a legend, a good one at that too. He didn't much care for the ending though. Particularly part when he died.

He had to keep reminding himself. He was dead.

There was a burst of laughter from the group at the table and it reverberated up the walls and right through Bilbo. He shuttered and sighed to himself. For the hundredth time he wished he were at the table. He found the impulse to go join the. He stayed in place, far enough away so that he would feel no impulse to attempt conversation or allow himself to forget his position. He'd been there a good long while and had no plans to leave. He didn't even know if he could. During the muted lulls of the feast, when the dwarves would break off into smaller, quieter conversations, Bilbo would consider what exactly it would take to leave. Maybe if he simply left, if he wandered away, he'd just disappear. Maybe he'd try it. Maybe he wouldn't mind. Didn't make much sense to stay to witness a world he couldn't possibly be part of? A world visible but lost.

The hobbit was so wrapped up in his own thoughts he didn't notice Gandalf coming to stand beside him. It nearly gave him a heart attack when he realized it. Bilbo's heart leapt for a moment then fell hard and fast. The wizard couldn't see him. He'd already tried waving his arms about, dancing ridiculously and making a few rather rude gestures at the old man but there'd been nothing It obviously wasn't on purpose that he'd come to stand so close to the little ghost of his burglar.

The two stayed there, leaning on the wall together in silence. A silence that was soon broken by the sound of footsteps. The heavy, slow echo of each foot fall were like whispers in the large room but they still drew Bilbo's attention, making him turn his head. Thorin was approaching. The hobbit, not quite fancying the idea of being stepped on, quickly scooted closer to Gandalf in an effort to avoid the dwarf's feet.

The king and the wizard were silent for a few minutes, barely acknowledging each other as they watched the party. Bilbo did the same until the low rumbling of Thorin's voice drew his attention. "Will you be leaving?"

"Soon. A bit of rest and I'll be off." The wizard sighed before giving a half-yawn.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like." The dwarf said, crossing his arms.

Gandalf nodded and then carefully spoke. "You do not seem to be in a celebratory mood. What's troubling you?"

Another pregnant silence took hold, this one tense. Distracting himself, Bilbo took this opportunity to look over Thorin. He hadn't seen him since he'd recovered from the battle. The dwarf was still bandaged. He may have been up and about but his face gave away his fatigue. Not only that but he was worried, like Gandalf had said there was something weighing on him. The white streaks in his hair were brighter, more apparent. Bilbo didn't like the look of this at all. He'd much rather like seeing the king at the table with his comrades, jesting and drinking in merriment.

Gandalf spoke again, first to break the silence. "You said you were not responsible for him. You promised nothing and there was nothing you could've done."

Bilbo raised his eyebrows, confused by the unprompted words.

"That is not true. If I'd been paying more attention. If I'd listened to him when he warned us to turn back. Perhaps if I'd . . ." He trailed off.

"Bilbo would never blame you, Thorin. He was hardly the type to point a finger. If anything, he'd hold himself responsible. He was warned of what his actions could bring about but he did not care. He knew what he was risking and I'm sure that he'd do nothing different had he known he wouldn't be here with us now. His blood is not on yours hands."

Bilbo could only nod in agreement and release a loud huff of annoyance. Gandalf was right. He'd made his choices and he did not for a second expect any but himself to take full responsibility for them. The poor little hobbit wished he could speak for himself. He'd explain what he'd been thinking and who he had been thinking of. Bilbo had no regrets. Aside from ending up stuck in this miserable purgatory, rendered mute.

"If my hands are not bloody then why do they feel so unclean? Why can I not shake this guilt? It clings to me worse than any sickness. It reaches deeper than any blade." Thorin instinctively rubbed his shoulder over his bandages. Just a few inches over and he would've joined the burglar in death. A fate he more than deserved.

"I shouldn't have left him there, unprotected. If I'd only been there I could've easily—"

"But you were not there. You were off doing exactly what it is you set out to do. Something Master Baggins knew was the objective from the moment he heard your stories that first night. The hobbit would only have shared in your defeat if you'd stayed with him. We would surely have more to mourn than we do tonight had you failed or strayed."

"You don't know that. You know nothing." The dwarf spat incredulously.

Bilbo couldn't but laughed to himself. Thorin was stubborn and it drove him to say the silliest most ridiculous things sometimes. Bilbo's laughter felt nice. It felt nice to make a sound.

Neither the dwarf king nor the grey wizard seemed to quite know why but they both jumped a bit, glancing around. It was as if they sensed something, a flutter in the air, a disturbance in the force. There was a swell of excitement in the hobbit's chest, a little shred of hope. Bilbo was sure _that_ hadn't just been in his head.

"I know that our burglar wouldn't want his death weighing on you. He never wanted to be any trouble, after all. He just wanted to help . . . and maybe take part in something rather . . . unexpected." The wizard patted Thorin's shoulder and gave him a smile. The king tried to return it but all he could manage was a shrug and grimace.

Gandalf went off to join the festivities after that, always finding a spare place at the table. Thorin, however, remained at the wall and watched his kin. If they noticed, they gave no sign of it.

Bilbo pushed himself to a standing position and took a step closer to Thorin. He was still nervous approaching the king despite the fact he was for all intents and purpose not even there. This strange state of being was much like wearing the ring. He felt as though, even unseen, he could disturb the space around him at any moment. He'd been careful up until this point, not wanting to cause any trouble or bring about unwanted attention. What a strange thing to worry about in death. After all this Took business, Bilbo found something so characteristically Baggins-y to be quite comforting.

After a long while Thorin muttered to himself. "He never should have come."

"Oh? I shouldn't have? Who would've stalled the trolls? Cut you from the spiders' webs? Who would've freed you from the elven dungeons?" Bilbo muttered to himself, annoyed and a bit hurt.

Again, Thorin looked startled. He couldn't hear the hobbit but he could feel a presence. The king looked around, a bit more carefully this time, up and down for any signs of where the strange feeling had come from. He looked past—no, through Bilbo and found nothing.

The hobbit thought for a moment then carefully put out his hand. It was shaking a bit as he gently nudged the dwarf and said in as strong a voice as he could muster, "Thorin?"

The dwarf tensed like an animal that had just heard twigs snapping beneath a hunter's feet. His gaze fell to the place where Bilbo's hand was. Slowly he drew his eyes up and looked for some trace, some proof that what he was feeling was more than wishful thinking or a trick of the mind. A sadness filled the king's eyes and he heaved a great sign. It was all in his head. It was merely an apparition, a manifestation of his guilt. He turned and walked away, intent on retiring for the night. He left his kin to their celebrations with no goodnight, no words. Their songs of jubilation were an unfit score to the king's somber exit and even less fit for the specter's despair.

**again . . . i'm sorry**


End file.
